Motor Oil on Silk
by Jekkal
Summary: Ratchet's a hero all over again! But when he meets a pair of Veldin's most famous 'film stars', all bets are off on what kind of hero's reward he wants... [R&R!]
1. Those Silk People

"EEEK! Oh, Hydro Girl, you didn't tell me we had a celebrity with us!" A voice cooed as Ratchet and Clank walked into the pressurized dome, glancing around.

"You think I had you invited here just for the hell of it?" Hydro Girl smirked, waving to Ratchet as she spoke with the screeching female just around a corner.

The Lombax poked her head around the corner to get a better look, before nodding, and Ratchet noted a pair of blonde braids and wavy bangs poking around a tawny face. She spoke up again. "Hey, we're plenty of party just on our own, but Ratchet-baby makes three!"

"We?" Ratchet blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Who else is here? I see plenty of Hydro Girl's fans, but . . ."

The Lombax female smirked at him again, before moving around the corner to lean up against the corridor's threshold. "Aww, tell me I'm at least recognizable . . . I know the camera adds ten pounds, but it's all in the right places!"

"I'm feeling a sense of deja vu, but . . ." Ratchet shook his head. "It could be nearly anything. I don't know."

She frowned, but then whistled and a second Lombax came running, his fur a stark white and a little longer than the lady's. Once the fellow stood next to his 'leading lady', Ratchet recognized the pose, going nearly catatonic at the sight of it.

One of the partygoers shouted out, "Someone catch him! He's about to faint!", and Clank quickly moved over to support Ratchet from behind as he just blinked at the two of them standing together, the male nibbling on his friend's ear just slightly, as though he'd just seen a picture come to life. More to the point, a centerfold.

Ratchet regained his stature a moment later, standing up and blinking. "You . . . and you . . . you're those Silk people!"

"You have to give him credit for his choice of words there." The guy smiled, giving his lady a small kiss on the cheek.

"At least he finally picked up on it." The lady grinned, walking over to Ratchet. "But please, we have better names to go by. My name is Sonata Masters, and this is my husband, Staccato. And, judging by your earlier response, you've heard of our work before."

"Hey, any Lombax worth his fur knows about _Tied Silk_, although I'm still wondering why you two are here . . . I didn't think we were anywhere near Aquatos's Red Glow district."

"Ouch." Staccato spoke up, walking over to his wife. "Silly Ratchet, even film stars need to relax every now and then. And when we heard about the party Hydro Girl was throwing, we decided it was just too good to pass up."

"It's always good to be invited to the kind of party you'd normally be invited to work for." Sonata giggled, smiling at Ratchet. "Are you sure we've not met before? I'm almost certain I met your metallic friend once at HoloStar Studios . . ."

"Ratchet doesn't accompany me on the set often, Ms. Masters." Clank spoke up. "Although I'm still baffled by your line of work, I can appreciate the cinematic discipline."

"Yeah, I'm sure everyone watches it for the 'cinematic discipline', Clank." Ratchet remarked with a snide look on his face, glancing over at the two.

Sonata rolled her eyes. "Please, Ratchet, I assure you we receive plenty of remarks along those lines whenever we meet new people. Now do us a favor and either refer to us as you would any new acquaintance-"

"-or else refer to us the way the rest of our clientele do." Staccato remarked. "And if you're about to go that route, we'd like you on your knees."

Ratchet blinked, noticing the crowd surrounding the trio, and suddenly Ratchet started to get nervous. Clank picked up on this, stepping between Ratchet and the married couple. "Sonata, I don't think Ratchet's interested in becoming a 'client' of yours."

"Seriously?" Hydro Girl blinked. "He's still in his DreadZone Armor! I bet since he got sucked onto that show, he's not even been able to be his _own_ client!"

This got a roar of laughter out of the crowd, and Ratchet winced, blushing deeply and grabbing at his ears to hide his face in embarrassment. He did not need to hear those sorts of remarks about his sex life or lack thereof right now . . .

"Hold on . . . let me see those hands." Sonata spoke up, grasping onto Ratchet by the wrist, looking at the clawed gloves of his armor. "Oh, Force, you're going to rip your ears up with these things on!"

"I don't care." Ratchet hissed back, still blushing deeply.

Sonata tsked, shaking her head, before lifting one of her hands up to stroke his right ear. She ran her hand over where Ratchet was grasping it before, with red scratch marks visible on the flesh. "You're scratching yourself up all over."

Ratchet bristled, calming down some as Sonata ran her hand over his ear, before letting out a low sigh of enjoyment. Staccato blinked, glancing over at his wife before speaking up. "If you need me to grab the camcorder, just say so . . ."

"Not yet." Sonata replied as she put both hands on his ear, massaging it gently, observing it closely before leaning a little closer to Ratchet. "You're incredibly tense right now . . . if there's anything you think would help alleviate that, feel free to suggest it."

"Cut me out."

Staccato blinked, confused. "Hm?"

"Cut me out of this fucking armored suit!" Ratchet snapped, looking at his hands. "It's cramped, tight, sweaty, and I swear, I think I've been sodomized with my own tail the entire time I've been stuck in this thing!"

Hydro Girl smirked. "Now that we can help you with."

"In that case . . ." Staccato looked at the crowd. "Looks like our night out's about to turn into a working night after all. Everyone, my wife and I need approximately a half-hour for setup, and once we've done that, we'll let this show start properly. In the meantime, please give tonight's guest star his space, make sure he eats well, all of those fun things, because I want him to be as calm about this as possible."

"Hold on, 'guest star'?" Ratchet blinked, taking a step back. "I'm not ending up as part of your HV show! I've had enough of that for my lifetime!"

"Not what we meant." Sonata smirked, giving the scratch-marks on his ear a kiss before letting go of it. "Ratchet, I don't know exactly what happened with Gleeman Vox, but let me be the first to assure you that we're far more scrupulous about our business. You're welcome at any time in the process to have us stop or to tell us not to release the film — and quite honestly, for what I think my husband has in mind, we're not going to be able to salvage this for our films anyway — and we're willing to honor that. We've scrapped several sessions before and performed many more 'private' shows like this, and we have no issue with discontinuing yours if you're too uncomfortable with letting us 'pamper' you."

"Besides," Staccato smirked, making eye contact with Ratchet, "From what I've been hearing, a nice session tonight is the least we could offer to our great galactic hero! Who's with me?"

"YEAH!" The crowd perked up, whistling and clapping. Ratchet calmed down, a small smirk on his face as he glanced over at Hydro Girl, who had a similar smile and a look on her face like she had this planned all along. Ratchet wasn't sure how far this was about to go, but he had a feeling this was going to shape up into one hell of a party . . .


	2. Chasing the Sun

"Are you sure about this, Ratchet?" Clank sat up, nursing what looked like motor oil with a screw-bolt garnish.

Ratchet leaned back on what looked to be an oversized beanbag, the claws of his armor tapping on the hip-plate of his armor. "Hell no. As far as I'm concerned, I'm just following this as far as getting my damn armor off, and then . . . I don't know. I'm not used to this."

"Exactly what about the situation concerns you?"

Ratchet blinked. "What, you don't think I actually should-?"

He received an answer with a shrug of Clank's little shoulders. "I'm not entirely certain of the situation myself. I understand what they do, but without the appropriate species context . . . it's a little confusing."

"The fuck does sp-! Oh . . ." Ratchet groaned, shaking his head. "Does it really make a difference? It's porn."

"And it means different things to different species." Clank shook his head. "I look at a film designed for you and I actually judge it on technical features; you look at a film designed for me and you can't even comprehend it."

Ratchet rolled his eyes. "I'm relatively certain that fucking is universal; there's nothing mysterious about inserting Tab A into Slot B. I'm sure whenever you get interested in that, you'll figure it out too."

Clank's eyes went narrow, almost in a concerned look. Ratchet raised an eyebrow, and then twigged it a few moments later, his face morphing into an expression of disbelief. Clank didn't answer it with anything but a turn of his seat, and Ratchet held onto his forehead, as though he needed to scrub out the mental image.

"THAT was what you were doing on the couch?" Ratchet shouted out, gathering the attention of five more people. "I was trying to hit on Angela when you were doing that! You didn't even ask for a blanket or anything!"

"Honestly, Ratchet, what did you think we were doing?" Clank remarked, incredulous.

"I don't know . . . swapping files? Recharging? Anything but-. I mean, damn . . ."

"Case in point." Clank hopped off of his chair, walking over to Ratchet. "I'll freely admit to knowing they're in the sex industry, but that doesn't mean I understand what's going on. You do."

Ratchet shook his head. "You really want me to explain this?"

"Hell, I'd like an explanation. I like their stuff but I don't get it." A passerby spoke up, raising a hand.

"Me too!" A female piped up, walking closer, and within the span of a commercial break, three different species had huddled around Ratchet to listen to him.

Ratchet blinked at the crowd, before snapping back with, "Why the hell don't I get this kind of crowd when I talk about taking down Doctor Nefarious?"

"Because only half of the group speaks hero!" Someone shot back, earning an interesting amount of laughter.

With a roll of his eyes, Ratchet leaned back further on his beanbag, trying to steady himself. "You only honestly understand it if you're a Lombax. I'm not trying to be a racist about this, but of the few mammalian species I've encountered, only a Lombax has ears sensitive enough to make the whole _Tied Silk_ concept work. Now sure, everyone likes a little ear nibble, but these ears, at this size? Incredibly sensitive, and with good reason.

"A good Lombax takes care of his ears because his ears take care of him. Picks up everything to hear, pinpoints sneak attacks, cools you off in those hot climates, helps you find a good headwind . . . Many a Lombax thanks his ears for getting him out of a bad situation, but the downside is that for all intents and purposes, you may as well be running around with your testicles on the side of your head, because that's what it feels like." Ratchet glanced at one of his ears, holding it gingerly, before continuing with, "Most people don't realize it, but if you've got a Lombax by his ears, you can do pretty much anything you want to him, because the pain of any damage occurring to these babies is that intense. There's a reason that getting your ears pursed was used so much as a punishment in the old slave days, and it's not because of the reduced profile."

A crowd member peeped up, cutting Ratchet off. "So what's the point of this?"

"You know how certain species think the female orgasm is a myth?" Ratchet remarked. "That's how most of the planet Veldin thought about their ears. They're sensitive, yes, but until recently next to nobody thought you could get off just by messing with your ears, because, let's face it — you tell a teenager that he can masturbate just by rubbing his head on the carpet hard enough, and he'll lock himself in his room for at least a week. _Tied Silk_ changed all that. You guys consider it softcore because there's no nipples or nobody actually fucks anyone else or whatever, but you don't see what the show actually did for the whole damned species. Much of the buildup and 'foreplay' involved in those episodes is a clinical walkthrough to prove that it's entirely possible to have an orgasm that way, without having to do much of anything else. The shows are just straight-up ear fetish with a touch of restraint bondage, and the only reason you guys care about it is that they actually film it well enough that it becomes universal in spite of itself."

Half of the crowd blinked, giving Ratchet just enough time to smirk and add on, "That's where the damn name of the show comes from. 'Silk' is common slang for the ears, plain and simple, just like you guys would go on about tits, melons, hooters . . . am I making it clear yet?"

There was a resounding 'Aaah' as the crowd got it, and Ratchet decided to sink into the beanbag for now, just trying to quiet himself. Just talking so much about it was already having an effect on him, or at minimum it was actually making his ass feel better already. He could practically feel his tail twitch inside of him without nearly as much pain as before.

"Beautiful explanation, Ratchet. I may have to find a way to use that one later."

Ratchet blinked, opening one eye to find himself staring back from the reflection of a camcorder lens. "How much of that did you just . . .?"

"I picked up everything from the 'female orgasm' remark on." Staccato smiled, putting his camcorder down for just a moment. "My wife and I try to explain it, but it just feels so . . . matter-of-fact. Almost like we're too wrapped up in how deep we've taken the whole concept that we can't pull back and start people off at square one."

Ratchet smirked, shrugging. "It all depends on the audience."

"For right now, you're the only audience I'm concerned about." Staccato picked up his camcorder, pointing it over at Ratchet again. "Just for the sake of our own records . . . mind if we still do the interview process beforehand before we get too far along in all this? I'm relatively certain there's going to be more messed with than your ears on this one."

"What's that meant to mean?" Ratchet raised an eyebrow, piqued.

"My main issue tonight is cutting that armor off of you somehow, and . . . I just don't have much clue what kind of damage might be under there. Obviously you're still alive, so it's nothing nanotech can't fix, but I've heard of some crazy stories about armor-graft atrophy that I'm not even sure I can film with a clear conscience." Staccato winced, a frown visible behind the camcorder. "I'm sure you've heard quite a few of them in your time as well."

"I don't know what you're expecting to run across, but I was knocked out cold when they suited me up. I'm in pain, sure, but I don't feel like I've actually 'lost' anything bodywise." Ratchet shrugged, then sighed, concerned. "How bad _are_ you expecting, actually? You've got me worried now."

"We're not sure, to be honest. You were wearing that suit for about a year, and depending on the nature of the suit and several other things, it's possible that parts of your body have attached themselves to the suit, or that it could have fed on your muscles and you wouldn't notice this because the armor compensated for this loss, and that's not including the obvious recycling of waste materials that the suit forced back into your body and the side effects of that . . . Right now, I'm not even sure if it's healthy to separate you from it, but we have to try anyway because we know that even if it isn't healthy to take you out of it, it has to be healthier than keeping you in it."

Ratchet frowned, worried. "What's the worst I'm looking at here?"

Staccato sighed. "Pretty much anything short of passing out on the floor and dying. Hydro Girl doesn't have the same issues as you because her armor had to be a different grade entirely in order to accommodate her aquatic form. You're our only 'real' survivor of DreadZone who's worn that armor, and quite simply, most armor isn't meant to be worn for more than two weeks straight at most, and that's meant to include wearing protective jumpsuits to prevent most of these issues. Best case, we hose you off and give you a brief physical to make sure your body's all in order. Worst case . . . you might not even be able to walk."

Ratchet sat there, silent, and already starting to feel slightly depressed. "What if I just keep the suit on?"

"Not an option." The reply was curt, blunt, and brutal. "Ratchet, if you're going to have these problems, it's going to happen either way. Either we take the suit off now and confront whatever problems we're going to have with it head-on, or else you keep the suit on, continue to self-medicate with nanotech to mask the problems, and just keep chasing the sun until one day you keel over dead. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I thought I didn't take the chance to try and help you out."

Ratchet sighed again, staring at the camcorder before looking down at himself again, still depressed. "How do you know all this stuff, anyway? I thought you only worked in porn."

"I'm a journalist first, Ratchet." Staccato rolled his eyes, glancing down at him. "I used to film veterans all the time before I met Sonata. You wouldn't be the first Lombax to have problems like this, and I've done enough research to know about this stuff enough to want to help you." He reached a hand out, scratching Ratchet just underneath an earlobe, getting the Lombax to purr on camera and echo a brief smile. "You've helped my planet enough times, and I'd like to return the favor."

Ratchet purred in his throat, blinking as he looked up at Staccato, reflexively angling his hips up as Staccato kept scratching behind his ear. "More . . ." Ratchet moaned, now feeling a distinct quickening within him.

"Shh." Staccato smiled, pulling his hand back. "We'll take a few more minutes to let you rest before we get started. Just relax and try to get comfortable; there'll be plenty of time to feel all the other ways later."


	3. A True Prisoner

People started to congregate, standing around the Lombax trio (and Clank of course), forming a protective barrier around the four of them.

"Ready, Ratchet?" Staccato stood up, his hands on Ratchet's shoulders. "I've got a pen laser here that should cut through the seams on the armor. My wife is standing behind you, ready to help me pry off the back portions while I take the front."

"Any chance she could stand in front?" Ratchet remarked, glancing behind him. "I think it'd be a better view."

Staccato chuckled, but only momentarily. "We could, but hey, you're probably the deadliest thing in this room, and while my buddies could probably survive a kick if you decided to lose it midway through this . . . her cargo can't."

This confused Ratchet, but then he blinked. "She's pregnant?"

"Yeah . . . we're not really keen on announcing it until we actually get far enough along to make a fuss about it, since this isn't our first 'attempt', so . . . just don't do anything to screw that up, okay?" Staccato winced, looking at Ratchet. "Anyway . . . ready?"

"I've taken on 'Satan in a Three-piece' and you're still asking that? Get this thing off me!" Ratchet snapped back, and the crowd began to cheer as Staccato began to cut. Ratchet could feel the heat from the laser, at which point he decided that the odds of him having anything on under this armor were around the odds of slim and none.

He winced as he swore he could feel his fur being singed, but said nothing of it, waiting patiently, nervously, for the first panel to come off. He hadn't seen much of his body in, well, since Vox had captured him in the first place. He had no idea what to expect. After all, all those things Staccato had said before, they couldn't have been true . . . he felt amazingly strong when he escaped. Why would the armor matter that much?

"Okay... chest panel freed. On three, love!" Staccato spoke up, latching onto the collar of Ratchet's armor.

"One!" Sonata hissed, bracing herself. "Two!"

"YEOW!" Ratchet hissed as they pulled apart just before the three, his armor coming off with a loud 'Pop!' as they fell back. "That wasn't three!"

The crowd gasped, and as Ratchet looked down, he could see why — He looked positively emaciated. He hadn't been able to see his ribs in forever, and yet they they were, sticking out like he was a starved dog. Staccato blinked, taking a step back.

After a long, pregnant silence, Clank was the first to speak up. "Ratchet, I think you haven't been eating as well as you thought."

"You think?" Ratchet hissed, looking disgusted with himself, before glaring at Staccato. "What the hell is this?"

"It looks like . . . Clank's assessment is about right. You've been living off your nanotech, and for a while from the jut of this." Staccato stood up, discarding the armor plate to poke at Ratchet's ribs, which earned him a slap.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "That hurts. My back doesn't appreciate it either." To this, Sonata bit her lip, not saying anything, but she gave Staccato a look that Ratchet picked up on. "Oh, no . . . you're not going to try and tell me I've got half my spine sticking out."

Sonata winced, not knowing what to say, but soon after spitting out, "You wish."

Ratchet groaned, knowing he was going to regret the next thing coming out of her mouth. "Why?"

"Because . . . at least nanotech could fix that." Sonata spoke, before taking a step back, wincing.

Ratchet turned to glare at her. "What's on my back?"

"You've got the DreadZone logo tattooed on . . ."

"FUCK!" Ratchet turned, glaring at her, but Staccato grabbed one of his arms.

"Ratchet!" He shouted, taking hold of him by an ear when Ratchet didn't stand down fast enough. "Calm down. It's not her fault . . . that must have been put on you the same time as the armor."

Ratchet stood there, speechless, but slowly, surely, he lowered his arms. There seemed to be a notion in his face that a light had gone out, somehow. "Get the rest of this armor off me."

"Are you sure? We can take our time if you-."

"Get it off me. NOW." Ratchet glared, his eyes cold.

"Okay, okay . . ." Staccato winced. "Come on, love. We've got to make this quick."

_Later . . ._

Ratchet stumbled into the nearby showers, weak. He felt like the past few weeks of fighting had to have been a dream, he looked so different now . . .

A quick look into a mirror confirmed Staccato's assessment; he'd been running on fumes. He looked like a living skeleton out of one of those pictures of prisoners of war, and to be honest . . . he felt like it, too. Matted fur, oil stains, bones visible though skin . . .

Fortunately, the rest of the armor removal was uneventful, except he still had the codpiece of his armor on. Staccato and Sonata had already cracked it open, but after his lousy reception of having his torso armor removed, Staccato felt it better to have him remove it himself if he could. Ratchet winced, walking a few steps closer to the mirror, stabilizing himself.

He turned around, hoping to see the tattoo on his back, to assess the actual damage. From what it looked, it was smaller than what he'd expected . . . just below the neckline, plain black . . . it almost felt tasteful for what it was. It didn't make it any less of an absolute violation of his body, of course.

"You okay, Ratchet?" Clank walked in, catching Ratchet looking at himself. "Sonata wanted me to check on you. Do you need help?"

"I . . . haven't tried yet." He admitted sheepishly, sitting down on a nearby bench and directing Clank to take a seat next to him. "I . . . I feel so used . . ."

Clank had a sorrowful look in his eyes, just looking up at Ratchet, speechless.

Ratchet just shook his head, peeling the last bit of his armor off with a deliberate slowness. The front peeled off a little easier than he'd expected, aside from the flash of momentary pain as he pulled out a piece of clear tubing that'd been shoved up inside him. Ratchet sighed, pulling out the last bit of tubing as he looked down, holding himself, seeing himself so . . . disused, limp. Usually he was rather happy to see himself and to take hold like that, but now . . . it felt like just another casualty of his own torment.

"Ratchet . . .?" Clank spoke up, jerking him out of his momentary tunnel vision. "Should I turn my head?"

"No need." Ratchet sighed, giving himself a hard yank just to make sure he could still feel himself, before letting go. "This isn't the time for it anyway."

Ratchet pushed himself up against the wall, pulling away the back side of the codpiece, sighing gently at his hands confirming that he was proven right for a change. He reached down, hands groping to try and find a good point to tug on, before his tail slid out with a sickeningly fluid yank.

The smell immediately hit him, and he ran for one of the showers, flipping it on as he collapsed to his knees on the tile floor, letting the water run over him, over his wretched excuse for a body, over the black tattoo that showed up in the fur on his back, over the generous caking on his tail of things he didn't even want to think about right now.

He ripped off his leather cap, letting his hair run under the water's torrent. It'd grown out a bit since before . . . no matter. He'd just have to accept that as part of his new body.

Eventually.

"Ratchet?" Clank spoke up again, catching up with him.

Ratchet's eyes clamped shut, trying to block out as much of the moment as he could, just trying to focus on the water running down on him, over him, as though it would wash it all away. But it wouldn't, of course.

"Clank . . ." Ratchet hissed, quickly curling up under the water. "Hold me . . ."

Clank walked over, placing one hand on the Lombax's head as the water ran, and bits of the dirt and grime already started to dribble away and down the drain.


	4. You, Me, and the Robot

"Ratchet? Are you all right?" Sonata blinked, standing outside the door to the showers.

After a few moments, Ratchet came out, followed by Clank, and wearing a slightly ratty, overly large shirt with a wavy sun image and the words "Black Hole Sun — This is Where it Ends", before glaring at Sonata, mouth pursed shut.

Sonata blinked. "I'm going to take that as a no."

"I'm not hitting a pregnant woman, dammit." Ratchet hissed, still glaring at her. "I came here to have a party, not to get myself stripped down and humiliated."

"Ratchet, we needed to remove your armor for your own safety." She sighed, a hand on her hip. "Now, if it's that important to you, we'll make it up to you later."

He scowled, still upset. ". . . why did you tell me I had that mark on my back?"

Sonata frowned, placing a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "You had a right to know. You would've found it eventually."

"Feels like I've slipped back in time, I swear . . . I basically was, right? All that was missing were the slave-driving whips and public pursings."

"It's a harsh statement, but Ratchet, Vox knew what he was doing was illegal. It was only a matter of time before-!"

"Before fucking what?" Ratchet glared at her. "Don't try to talk me down from this, it's in your blood as well as it is mine. I mean, hell, that's what's with your name, right? 'Masters'. While the rest of our species was getting covered in grease and diving into live engines to keep the pistons running, your ancestors were playing as the dolls in some spoiled brat's playroom by day and getting muffed by night!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter." Sonata glared back. "For one, 'Masters' is my married name; now I'm not going to deny that I'm from more educated stock than whatever YOUR family came out of, but you talk to any Canon, Treble, or Forte, and they'll gladly inform you that life wasn't any more of a picnic for them either!"

"Ratchet . . ." Clank spoke up, whining just enough to stop the budding argument. "What are you two talking about? The last time I checked, weren't the events in question over 500 years ago?"

Ratchet rolled his eyes. "The Galaxy has a long memory."

"Unlike certain Lombaxes who should be more grateful we took his armor off skillfully enough we can re-assemble it into a more tolerable format so you're not stuck it for another year . . ." Sonata glared. "Now . . . if you're through insulting the past, may I lead you back to your seat?"

Ratchet sighed. "May as well." He glanced around the room, noting that it had thinned out. "Is the party over?"

"It's calmed down for tonight. Don't worry, there'll be more tomorrow." Sonata smiled, thumping the beanbag that Ratchet sat upon before, leaning up against it herself. "We're not in any hurry."

"Strange . . ." Ratchet mumbled to himself, lying down on the large pillow. "I'd figured you people would be busy."

"We are, but we aren't. Most of our work is done on Veldin for obvious reasons; coming out to someplace exotic like this typically means my husband and I are out doing 'performance art' instead."

"And 'Performance art' is a euphemism for sex, I'm guessing." Ratchet remarked, before blinking at the realization that Sonata had lain down as well, and her head was right in Ratchet's lap.

Sonata chuckled, the vibrations of her jaw passing onto him plain as day. "Well, there are orgasms involved, I'll assure you of that much. My husband and I are of the dignified side of the sex industry, after all . . ."

Ratchet smirked. "You don't look too dignified right now."

"It's all about the company you keep." Sonata smiled, then glanced down to see Clank standing near the pillow, watching them, before she turned her head to Ratchet. "Is he allowed to watch?"

The hero's eyebrows jumped up in shock. "To watch what?"

"Just curious . . ." Sonata smirked, pulling up the hem of Ratchet's oversized shirt just enough to him to catch on.

He gulped. "Wait a minute, your husband-!"

"Calm down . . . I'm not planning to take this far enough to bother him." Sonata purred, one hand slipping underneath the shirt to take hold of him. "After all, he's seen me with customers before . . . the only thing he'll be upset about is not filming it."

Ratchet started to look a lot more nervous now, glancing out to try and find Staccato or his lens out somewhere in that crowd. "I don't think I . . . ah . . ."

"Shh . . ." Sonata smiled. "Unless you really want to attract a crowd, I think we should just keep it to you, me, and the robot here. After all, from what I heard from the crowd earlier, it's about time he saw this."

"Please . . ." Ratchet managed out before he mewled, unable to control himself. Damned if he'd counted on this happening . . .Even if it did feel damn good . . .

Sonata's head had slipped just beneath the hem now, causing Ratchet's eyes to roll back. Clank blinked, along with a few bystanders, just watching on either in awe or a drunken buzz at what they were seeing; although most of it was hidden by sheer body placement and the oversized shirt, every now and then Clank managed to catch a flash of muzzle and flesh pressed tightly against each other. Most of what he saw was in Ratchet's face and Sonata's bobbling determination, keeping her eyes on Ratchet's expressions of enjoyment as her hair fell to the side, her hands on his thighs, keeping her focus on him.

After a few moments, Ratchet was panting, trying to sit up, his eyes focused on her, even though he was breathing hard now, almost impressed. Sonata wasn't saying anything, but her eyes were saying everything, looking up at him with a glint of mischeviousness in her eyes, pulling his shirt up just a little higher to let him see what she was doing to him, her eyes locked with his as she kept up her motions, her jaw in perfect fluid motion as she went, her tongue and her teeth adding just enough variety to keep him interested, as if he didn't have enough incentive already.

"Hang on . . ." Ratchet put out a hand, pushing into her hair just enough for her to understand. "Can't just . . ."

The look in Sonata's eyes was a clear 'you can', and in emphasis she dove her head down, engulfing him as best she could. Ratchet's eyes went wide as he fell back, eking out all sorts of sounds, until suddenly . . . he chirped.

Ratchet blinked, stunned at himself, before he chirped, then chirped again, the half squeak-mewls of joy escaping his throat as he just closed his eyes, trying to get out of this what he could . . . he'd gone too long without this, entirely too long . . .

The waves of ecstasy soon subsided, leaving a worn Ratchet sprawled out on the pillow, a smirking Sonata looking down on him, and Clank standing there in shock.

The pause kept going for a few moments, before Ratchet looked up at her with a crazy smirk on his face. "Marry me."

"I already beat you to her." Staccato remarked, causing Ratchet to jerk up in shock, covering herself. Staccato had a camera in hand, and looked like he was just wrapping up some footage as he walked over to Sonata, stroking one of her ears. "Just face it, Tiger — I've hit the jackpot."

"You certainly have." Clank remarked, earning a hard glare from Ratchet. "She seems quite skilled."

This earned a chuckle from the frosty Lombax. "Ten years in the business has to make you good at something . . ." He smirked at Ratchet, holding up his camcorder. "I caught plenty of it on film, if you're wondering. It's not often my wife gets to show off that talent to someone besides me, after all."

Ratchet blinked, suddenly becoming quite defensive. "Look, she-!"

"There's no need for apologies." Staccato cut him off, before slipping his freehand over to Sonata, dipping just below the hem of her pants and apparently getting enough of a reaction to make Sonata cough, and then blush. "I don't mind sharing certain parts of my wife . . . as long as you keep out of what's meant to be kept between us."

Sonata blushed, scratching her neck as she managed to squeak out to Ratchet, "Consider it repayment for our little incident before."

"Come along, my sweet Sonata . . ." Staccato smirked, wrapping an arm around her. "I believe we have a symphony of our own to tend to. Your newfound audience here will take care of itself."

With this, Staccato led Sonata away, a hand caressing her stomach, and Ratchet just sat there, feeling like a chunk of his heart had walked off with them.


	5. Soliloquy

Sonata mewled as she felt her husband's knees under her, angling her up and keeping her wrenched into her current position, grasping the fabric of the nearby cushions for support. She looked up at Staccato's face, watching it contort as he kept his eyes on her, his face looking almost . . . pained somehow.

She sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. "You don't have to be jealous of him, you know."

"I'm . . . not . . . jealous . . ." He grunted out, his hands braced against her ribs.

"Please. I suppose dragging me aside and out of the way to try and-. Ah! . . . to try and 'protect your claim' after I show some appreciation to our guest was just on pure whim?" Sonata was having trouble breathing as she tried to look up at Staccato. "You're not that subtle, Stack."

"And what makes you think you're any better?" Staccato hissed out, rocking Sonata gently as he went, ekeing a chirp out of her. "Why shouldn't I be worried about my wife trying to 'take on' one of the strongest, most powerful men on Veldin, hm?"

She moaned, trying to pull the cushions closer. "I already have you . . . you treat me so well . . . take me across the galaxy . . ." She gasped, chirping again. "Make me famous . . ."

"Just admit you want him. Make it simple." He spoke up again, watching her form rock against his. "I know I'm not perfect. Tell me what you see in him."

"I . . ." She chirped again, her face quickly becoming flushed. "I don't . . ."

"Why? Just tell me why!" He cried out again, before giving up a chirp of his own. "Now . . . please . . . Tell me!"

"He's . . .He's a . . ." She gasped, chirping again between breaths now. "He's a hero, damn it!"

Staccato jerked up against Sonata once more, his hands wrenched tightly against her shoulders, the cacophony of chirps and moans making it impossible to keep talking, the two of them moving against each other in one last rush of conjoined ecstasy, their screams loud enough to cause Hydro Girl in the next room to turn her head.

She gasped it out again as she felt Staccato's last throes. "He's a hero . . . that's what people do for heroes . . ."

"I'm your hero too . . . aren't I?" Staccato spoke up, still with shortened breath.

"Not that kind of hero . . ." She reached a hand out, stroking his face

Staccato jerked away, before pulling himself away from her, resting a hand on her belly. "I didn't hurt you, right?"

"It's not easy to tell right now . . ." She replied, looking down at her belly. "It should be fine, Staccato. You're not about to give me an abortion just from riding me hard enough."

"I just . . ." Staccato sighed. "I want it to be done . . . we've tried too hard for this. It's supposed to be simpler, damn it!"

Sonata shrugged. "BioBloom swears they're working on a multi-species 'ex vivo' incubator . . . if this doesn't work-."

"It's not the same." He shook his head. "I want to see you grow . . . I want to see that the last ten years haven't been wasted trying to do the impossible. Getting an incubator feels like giving up."

Unfortunately, Staccato was answered with a shrug, and a brief whip of a t-shirt going past his legs as Sonata began to dress. "It's not giving up . . . just getting a little outside help is all."

"I want a natural child." He intoned. "I want to be there for you, be there for her . . . him, whatever, I don't care anymore. I want to be there by both of your sides, for as long as I can, including while you're carrying. I don't want any excuses for why . . ."

Sonata sat up, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Shh . . ."

Staccato drooped his eyes and his ears. "I want to be the father I was supposed to have. Is that so difficult?"

"It wasn't your fault, you know that . . ."

With that, Staccato stood up, slowly putting back on his clothing. " . . . I know I've been terrible about this. I know it's asking a lot of you. I know it's been years since we were supposed to have Melody . . . and maybe I just never got over losing her, let alone the others."

"Don't worry so much." Sonata stood up, stroking Staccato's cheek just as he pulled his vest on. "They're not lost. They just keep trying, same as we do."

"Maybe." Staccato shook his head. "I need to go for a moment. You should check the camera equipment and make sure we're ready." Sonata gave a brief nod, and with that, Staccato headed out of the room, back into the party proper.

Ordinarily he'd feel a blush of pride as he walked through the room, smug in his own satisfaction, but this time . . . he didn't care. He almost preferred the momentary shield of privacy; Force knows he doesn't get enough of it in his line of work as it was.

Fortunately, being the life of the party meant it was easy for everyone else to find you, and just like that, he caught Ratchet sitting up, with a drink in his hand of some kind and Clank nearby him. "Ratchet! I want to talk to you!"

"Woah, look, Staccato, she came onto me, I swear-!"

"Not that." He butted in, cutting him off. "I came to apologize. There were better ways to deal with that situation that I didn't take."

To this, Ratchet could only raise an eyebrow. "You seemed pretty cool about it to begin with . . ."

"I was still rude in how I did it." Staccato shook his head. "All things considered . . . you're certainly one of the better men I'd leave with my wife like that."

Ratchet blinked, exchanging a look with Clank before speaking up again. "Are you sure you're all right, man?"

"Better than I've been in a while." Staccato shrugged, giving Ratchet a half-smile. "Please, Ratchet . . . accept my apologies. Have my wife in any way she allows you. I just ask to capture it for my own purposes . . . I know she's stressed from the pregnancy. I'd be a horrible husband not to let her have a few . . . liberties while I ask so much of her."

Clank blinked in shock, while Ratchet now had a stunned look on his face. This wasn't at all what Ratchet had in mind . . . and for some reason he couldn't help but feel like there was something about this he just wasn't meant to interfere in.

Staccato had a small forlorn frown on his face, raising an eyebrow. "Is something wrong with my offer?"

"I wasn't expecting that." He spoke up, one hand absently going for the tattoo on his back, as though it only now began to itch. "I'm not really . . . I . . ."

Clank had an exasperated look on his face. "He's a virgin."

"Well only technically now . . ." Ratchet spoke up, glaring at Clank. "And next time, let me say it myself, all right?"

"Ah, I should have asked!" Staccato chuckled, giving Ratchet a knowing look. "Make sure that Sonata knows before anything more happens. I'll leave the judgement call up to her, but you'll need to speak with her anyway before we begin the show 'proper'. After all, I suspect you'll want her doing more of the interesting details than myself."

With this, Staccato gave Ratchet a brief stroke along the ridge of one ear, apparely moving deftly enough to get Ratchet to blush instantly. "Though if I were to hazard a guess, I doubt you'd mind too much either way."


	6. For the Love of Justice

"Hey, Clank... you have any clue where Al went off to?" Ratchet blinked, his ears perking up at the errant thought crossing his mind.

"I believe he stepped aside to go check out some of the more cybernetic guests at tonight's party." Clank remarked. "I've seen him around, but not within the last two hours."

"It's not really like him to be that kind of a social butterfly... at least not with a monitor separating him from everyone else." Ratchet glanced back at his pal, his eyes suddenly at half-mast. "You don't think he'd-?"

"The night has been full of enough surprises so far, Ratchet." Clank shrugged, curling back up into the pillow-chair. "To be honest, I'd suspect that's exactly what he's been doing since I last saw him."

"Hey, more power to him then!" Ratchet chuckled. "I better find Sonata . . ."

Ratchet found himself wandering through the crowds, coming up just to people's armpits at times; he was having a hard time finding his way about, until he found a wide clearing set up, and he noticed the pair of women painted on the nearby wooden board, with bullseyes censoring them up. He blinked, standing in front of it to stare for a moment.

He heard a voice shouting at him soonafter. "Get out of the way, man!"

Ratchet blinked, then turned to the source. "Al? Is that you?"

"I'm right here!" Al spoke up, his shirt not tucked in at all into his pants like he normally kept it. "From what I've heard you've been treated pretty well so far tonight!"

"You have no idea."

Al rolled his eyes, or at least rolled the one remaining organic eye that Ratchet could notice. "I could take a damn good guess. By the way, mind if I take a look at your 'souvenir'?"

"What do you mean, my-? Oh . . ." Ratchet sighed, bending over just enough for Al to pull on the collar of his shirt and see it. Al whistled, and Ratchet right then could have just crawled into a hole and waited to die from the sheer embarrassment. It was bad enough to have found himself trapped in Gleeman Vox's games as it was, but to find himself permanently branded with what was effectively a slave mark just added heaps of insult to the injury.

Al didn't seem to mind though. "Nice work on it. I'd always heard it was hard to get a nice dark ink to show up on fur."

"I don't _care_ about the quality of it!" Ratchet hissed. "I don't like it on me, period!"

"Hey, at your age? It's probably worth keeping around." Al spoke, giving Ratchet a hearty slap on the back with his metal arm, and catching Ratchet in the other. "I mean, come on, it's a basic dark tattoo in a concealable area of your body, no words or lettering . . . it's pretty classy as far as tattoos go."

"I didn't fucking want it on me in the first place! What part of that is your stupid half-brain not picking up?" Ratchet growled, before seeing the look of anger on Al's face from the remark. "Woah, not like there's anything wrong with-."

"Look, I'm not saying you have to like it right away, but if you're stuck with it, you're stuck with it, right? The best you could do is get it altered later into a different image, but either way you're still going to have a tattoo there, so you may as well get used to it!" Al hissed, done with being nice for the moment. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm waiting in line for the accuracy competition you just walked though. There's a bit of a line if you want to-. Ratchet? Where'd you go?"

Ratchet shuddered at the idea of Al and his 'accuracy' as he scrambled off, adjusting his shirt back into place. Fortunately, Sonata was easy to find, as she was sitting near a pond where Hydro Girl had set herself up in.

Hydro Girl spotted Ratchet first, though, and as she sat up it was obvious to Ratchet that the heroine also happened to be as topless as a toddler. "Hey there, hero! Anything I can do you for? Or maybe just do you?"

"Not right now, thanks." Ratchet remarked, before kneeling down to Sonata's level. "Hey, I was told I needed to talk with you about . . . y'know . . . stuff?"

"Indeed." Sonata smirked. "I assume you want to do that in a more secluded area?"

"Depends how much there is to talk about." Ratchet shrugged, sitting down to let his feet dangle in the water.

She shrugged, glancing over at him. "Well, most of the initial questioning involves your actual sexual preferences . . . besides the obvious, of course. It's fairly bland stuff; whether you prefer men or women, if you like to please rather than receive, oral versus anal, 'equal' roles versus dominance or submissiveness . . . though that last one seems to get some of the strongest responses we come across . . . it's weird. People are perfectly happy to go on about how much they like giving head to their brother, but we can't get them to actually admit if they like it better with handcuffs or not."

Ratchet's eyes quickly fluttered. "You're kidding me."

"No, it's that damned slavery complex again . . . people think too much about it to the point that they think something's wrong with them if the sexual relationship starts to show any actual power struggle. They don't get that it's a normal sexual fetish among other species . . . sure, the whole concept of 'Master/slave' relationships is not about to go over well with the average Lombax, just on the wording alone . . . but that doesn't mean all power-play is suddenly bad. Besides, if nobody wanted it, Justice wouldn't be as popular as she is."

"Who?" He darted an eyebrow up, confused.

Sonata blushed. "My mistake! That's not her real name . . . She's another Lombax in the industry, but unlike us, she's an actual performer rather than a director like Staccato and myself . . . You've probably seen her. She's known as 'the white Dominatrix' in certain circles . . . . unlike most power-play performers, she's often in this skintight white outfit with a blindfold on... she started wearing it to hide her identity at first, but it's become her trademark." She leaned over to Ratchet, chuckling as she tacked on, "It's just as well. She looks ten years younger than she really is as long as she keeps those eyes hidden!"

Ratchet chuckled, blushing slightly as he noticed himself growing more 'interested' than he expected to. "Now that's something I didn't expect to pick up on."

"Well it still leaves me to question just where you lay on the scales . . ." Sonata purred into Ratchet's ear, heightening his ears as well as his 'interest'. She reached over, just enough to let her hand rest on top of his lap, keeping her hand flat to sense his baser instincts. "What kind of experience did you see yourself having while you were growing up?"

"I didn't exactly get too many chances as a kid to get laid . . ." Ratchet remarked. "Which reminds me, I'm supposed to tell you that I'm still a virgin . . ."

"Really?" She blinked. "Fooled me . . . kidding, it was written all over your face from before. But I've not forgotten; it just means we'll avoid any actual penetration tonight." Suddenly, she felt Ratchet soften underneath her touch, She blinked again as she glanced down at it, then looked back up at him. "You were looking to do that tonight, weren't you?"

Ratchet winced. "I just . . . look, I know I'm too old to still be like this."

"No, no! Lots of bright Lombaxes like yourself don't break themselves in until they're at least your age! They're usually just too smart and too worried about the consequences to even bother half the time . . . or else they just stick to the simpler arts rather than actual penetration . . ." Sonata chuckled. "You think Staccato would have won me over so quickly if I'd already been shown the ropes by someone else?"

Ratchet shrugged. "Well, that was sort of why I wanted to find out with you . . . I figured I'd cede to experience." He pulled her in close, pressing her lap in against his, trying in vain to get his point across. She pulled away, though, and Ratchet found her slipping out of his arms.

He fell back against the slick stone near the water's surface, just looking up at the ceiling, and noticing Sonata's face in the way. Ratchet coughed, murring to himself. "Weak . . ."

"Well, yeah, you're not working with your armor anymore to help you keep up with what you need." She remarked, straddling across his clothed lap. "Come on, you deserve better . . . you deserve to make sure your first time's special, you know? I'm not saying you have to wait for marriage or to turn 30 . . . but you need to make sure you've got a great girl in mind for it."

Ratchet groaned as she shifted on top of him. "I guess so . . ."

"Good." Sonata smirked, holding still and putting out a pair of hands to hold Ratchet's arms to the floor. "Doesn't mean we can't do a few other things with you . . ."

He squirmed, his muscle weakness even more apparent as he found himself being held down by, of all Lombaxes, a pregnant woman. Someone who should have, by all means, been exactly the sort of person he wouldn't fight not because he was worried about their skill, but that he was worried he might accidentally kill them just trying to hold them down . . . and here he was, being sat on and held down by her.

The only thing that made it worse was that he was entirely too turned on right now from this. He shut his eyes, ceding away for a moment . . . he shouldn't have felt like this. Hell, he felt like absolute shit while in Gleeman's clutches, he never slept well because the Deadlock collar bothered him so much, he had come to absolutely loathe being an_ actual _prisoner . . . but had the experience warped him that much? Was merely pretending to lack control more fun than losing it?

Ratchet calmed down, getting the mental image in his mind of kneeling at the feet of 'Justice' — he'd seen her before in plenty of pin-ups (and a few other places as well, for that matter), in her thigh-high boots and ribbon-fringed skirt, her blinded face looking down upon a handcuffed, leather-wearing Ratchet . . . perhaps with some sort of a muzzle or mask on Ratchet as well — he'd definitely need a mask if he was ever going to get close enough to her, since he'd likely have to perform, on camera no less.

She'd make him prove himself, no doubt. Possibly she'd go about it with mere measurements or an analysis of just how nicely the leather cupped his hindquarters, or maybe make him 'serve' her somehow. He could almost imagine how she'd taste once she gave him just enough leeway to reach her body. Or maybe . . . perhaps she'd even test him on his endurance . . . to see how far she could take him, how many ways he could fit inside of her, how deep he could go, before he . . . he chirped for her . . . because once he gave in, he wouldn't stop . . . he'd be hers . . . all under her control . . .

Sonata blinked, noting the strangely blissful yet labored look on Ratchet's face. "Ratchet? Ratchet!"

"Mistress . . ." Ratchet purred, and Sonata's face dropped in expression as she noticed just how stiff against her that he now was.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Come on, wake-up time! Fantasies later, questions now!"

Ratchet mumbled some as he opened his eyes again, looking up at her. "I think we may have to make sure what whatever you've got in mind, it's anything but 'equal'."

"Looks like we know what you are. At least for tonight, anyway." She smirked, rolling off of him. "Now, onto slightly more mundane details . . ."


	7. Showtime!

Ratchet found himself purring as he eyed the small 'toy chest' that Sonata set on the stage in front of him. Ratchet was kneeling there, on the backlit stage floor that was quickly being surrounded by all sorts of creatures, glancing up at the scaffolding to see if he could predict what was going to happen here.

"All right, folks, ready?" Staccato spoke to the crowd, even as he focused the camera on Ratchet. "All right then, in five, four, three . . ."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a very special episode of 'Chained Silk' tonight!" Sonata purred. "That's right, nothing 'tied' about this one; we're pulling out all the stops for a _very _special guest of ours . . . You won't have to try hard to recognize our guest tonight. He's ran roughshod over two galaxies, has spent the better part of a year being held prisoner for a holovision show . . . and yet in spite of all this, the poor kit's been blueballed for as long as he can remember. Let's see if we can't change that, shall we?"

Ratchet blinked as Sonata sat down beside him, one hand tugging at the oversized shirt he still wore. She smiled again, cocking her head up to whisper in his ear. "You want to explain yourself, or should I do it?"

He paled, looking up at the camera nervously, unable to speak. "I . . . I think you better do it."

"Aww, and here I thought you were used to the cameras!"

"Come on, you think I'm used to looking like this in front of them?" Ratchet spoke, before pulling off his t-shirt, much to the delight of the crowd around him. He was as naked as ever under that shirt, and in the harsh lighting of the stage, his malnourished form stood out again, and he became overly conscious of this. "DreadZone really did me in . . . it doesn't even feel like my body anymore."

"We can fix that . . ." Sonata purred, giving Ratchet a brief scratch behind one ear, and Ratchet relaxed immediately, sitting up and spreading his limbs out, letting the camera get a better view of his anorexic anatomy. "But as long as you're healthy enough to have a little fun, let's see if we can't get your mind feeling a little better before we worry about the rest of you. Now, before we continue, let's just make this clear that you're doing this all because you want to, okay?"

"Sonata . . ." Ratchet spoke, stretching out as he laid down on the floor, inadvertently exposing himself to the camera as he placed his head in Sonata's lap. "Right now, I'd do just about anything you told me to."

The crowd whistled as Sonata glanced down at Ratchet, stroking his hair and pausing as she tried to recover from her blush. Ratchet took it as a sign, however brief, that she understood just what she was doing to him. "Well lucky for us, you said the same thing before we started rolling the cameras! As a bonus, unlike most of the planet, you're more than willing to include more than a little restraint into tonight's events . . ."

Ratchet nodded, shutting his eyes for another moment as he felt one hand on his right ear and the other hand on his neck, leaving his left ear to not-so-accidentally brush against her clothed crotch, and Ratchet felt it as the first rush of blood surged through his veins. "Please, Sonata . . ."

"Sounds like our guest is ready to get started tonight!" Sonata spoke, standing up to grab the toy chest, holding it in front of Ratchet. "Let's put these to good use on you, hmm?"

Ratchet nodded, blinking as the first piece she pulled out appeared to be a series of belts attached to rings. "What kind of . . . that's a prison harness, isn't it?"

"There's only so much fetish gear that comes in your size, now . . ." Sonata chided him, encouraging Ratchet to come forward, walking into the front of the harness. "Yes, it's a prisoner's harness. And just like it works on them, it'll hold your arms back just fine."

"I just . . . thought I was here to get that out of my-?" Ratchet spoke, before Sonata latched onto one of Ratchet's ears again, popping the tip into her mouth. This managed a low moan out of Ratchet, pausing in his stance as he felt her cinching the back of the harness into place, his arms now pinned to his sides.

He tried reaching out, but quickly found her hands reaching for his, pulling them behind his back and strapping them behind him as well, before she opened her mouth to speak, and the tip of Ratchet's ear fell free again. "Now, now, Ratchet . . . we're just making sure you don't try touching yourself while we work with you. You know how it works."

"Damn it, then, mind at least doing the touching for me?" Ratchet shot back, to much laughter from the crowd. "Come on, now . . . you said you weren't holding anything back . . ."

"But that's not what you really want, is it?" She smirked, running a hand down his front. Ratchet moaned, quickly growing unsteady on his feet as she took a brief hold. "Come on, now, admit it."

"Sonata . . ." Ratchet hissed, leaning back now.

"Tell me what you want, Ratchet." Sonata purred, her breath on the back of his neck. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want you!" Ratchet leaned forward, causing Sonata to lurch forward, catching herself before she fell. Ratchet moved forwards again, trying to kiss Sonata, but came up short, dropping forward onto his knees. "Please . . ."

"Ratchet, there's a lot of people in this galaxy who find me attractive. I can't please them all." Sonata smirked, pushing Ratchet back. "You're already in a pretty vulnerable position as is right now — don't make a fool out of yourself while you're at it."

"Sonata, please . . ." Ratchet mewled, crawling on his knees. " I know what I want here, please . . ."

"Sit!"

Sonata spoke, and Ratchet fell back to sitting on his ankles, all too happy to obey. She took a hold of his hair, pushing his head back as she reached for additional restraints. Ratchet blinked, looking back to see Staccato still filming, and then Ratchet felt a wash of embarrassment on his face. He wasn't _supposed _to fall for her, or at least not like this.

"Perhaps we ought to make sure your movements are further restricted . . ." Sonata spoke up, kneeling down to set the straps on Ratchet's legs, rooting him to his current position. "After all, we want to make sure you get what you asked for, right?"

Ratchet mewled, trying to nudge Sonata. "I'm serious, I want you . . ."

"Then you'll just have to behave and follow my orders then, won't you?" Sonata smirked, standing up so Ratchet's eyes were on the hem of her tunic. "Staccato, the camera."

"What's going on?" Ratchet blinked, noticing the hand-off to Sonata, who turned her lens back over to Ratchet's kneeling form.

"I want to test something . . ." Sonata smirked, watching as Staccato walked over to Ratchet, a small swagger in his step. "More to the point, I'd like to check out just how badly you care about 'control' versus your other preferences."

Ratchet blinked, confused, before glancing up at Staccato, who was now smiling down at him. "Sonata and I are a package deal, after all . . ."

"What are you . . . what do you . . .?" Ratchet blinked, then widened his eyes. "You can't be serious . . ."

"Hey, we're not about to stop you if you want to back down." Staccato spoke, his hips just a little lower than Ratchet's head. "After all, you seem more than willing to shower my wife with such affection . . . I believe I deserve some goodwill for being so generous with her . . ."

Ratchet gulped, looking up at him, watching carefully as Staccato deftly loosened his pants, smiling down at his celebrity prisoner. For a moment, the two looked up at each other, trying to read the other's next response. Ratchet gulped once more, hesitant, while Staccato merely presented himself, standing there, trying not to scare Ratchet any more than his stance already did.

Ratchet pulled his knees together, still staring up at him, with a look on his face that made it painfully clear how far in his throat his heart was. Damn it, this was what he was trying to avoid, he just wanted to lose himself in the moment right there . . . lose himself . . . lose enough control, just enough to let them slip up, like he almost managed with Sonata earlier . . . if this would lead him back to Sonata, then by all means!

He lurched forward, jaw closing in around Staccato, catching the film star off guard. The crowd around him gasped in shock as the two stumbled, Staccato deftly trying to catch his stance, now kneeling, with Ratchet bent over and quickly becoming a more active participant in his own session.

Ratchet tried to forget the buzzing of noise in his ears about his actions and merely focusing on how it felt to him, how oddly comforting the leather felt against his skin, the throbbing pulse around and about his legs. _Guess she was right,_ he thought for a moment. _Control must be more important to me right now than I thought. . . _

The hero shut his eyes, zoning out momentarily, at least relieved for the moment that he was able to lose control without having an itchy trigger finger. He dully noted the hand on the back of his head, guiding him and his throat along, but Ratchet's mind was clearly elsewhere. Damn Staccato, damn the crowd, and damn the camera; he was going to take the situation for what it was worth!

Sonata blinked, keeping the camera focused out of sheer awe now as she captured this on film. Usually Staccato came up with the short end of the stick when it came to participants — most of them didn't like his forceful nature, least of all when he tried to get himself a little extra attention while she was stuck holding the camera. Ratchet seemed to thrive under that pressure, and from the looks on Staccato's face, even he wasn't expecting that sort of response out of him.

"Ra . . . Ratchet!" Staccato gasped out, still trying to grab the stage for support, his thighs loosening from their position around Ratchet's head. "Tha-that's enough! You didn't have to . . . you can stop any . . . oh, God . . ."

Staccato gave up a shrill trill of chirping, reaching out for Ratchet's ears, his eyes watering and muscles twitching, gasping for breath. Ratchet ignored it. The determination was evident on his face as he kept on, trying to get another trill out of Staccato, almost forgetting his current position, kneeling between this man's legs as he was.

Staccato cried out again, but this time with a much weaker series of chirps, coughing for air before he fell back. Ratchet smiled as he saw the star fall back, swallowing as an afterthought. A moment later, he jerked back in shock with Staccato pushing on his eyes, forcibly pulling himself away from Ratchet's muzzle. Staccato lied there for moment, curling up to collapse on the stage, his tail tucked between his legs.

Sonata blinked, glancing away from her camera to look down at her husband. "What in . . . overexposure?"

Staccato glanced up weakly at her. "A vacuum cleaner would've at least known when to stop . . ."

Ratchet was still bent over, catching his breath, before looking up at the camera and Sonata with a creeping, almost sinister smile. "That should take care of him for a while . . . How about you, Sonata? Care to try?"


	8. Ready To Go

Time stood still for about three seconds.

Ratchet kneeled there, still breathing hard and trying to recover slightly. He had to get what he wanted now; Staccato was down and out of the way, and no longer in any position to make demands. Sonata would HAVE to approach him in order to continue filming. She'd have to at least reach for his ears, if nothing else.

She had to have been impressed — he could put up with this crap at least long enough to get what he wanted. He knew she had been filming the whole thing with rapt attention. She had to figure out that it meant Ratchet would do anything for her, and quite literally at that . . . God, this had better be worth it!

The next few words weren't what Ratchet was expecting from Sonata."What in the . . ."

Ratchet blinked, suddenly becoming aware again of his surroundings as he looked around at the crowds whispering and murmuring around him, at Al and Clank whose eyes were wide in sheer shock, and then finally at Sonata. She clapped her camera off, and Ratchet's eyes went wide, suddenly all too aware that was he was nude, bound, and there was a good amount of something in his throat he never intended on having there.

He looked up at her, still kneeling, confused. "What's going on?"

"Wasted footage." She hissed, kneeling down to help Staccato to his feet. "Stack . . . are you able to get up and move?"

"Give me a minute . . ." Staccato groaned, before looking over at Ratchet. "Damn . . . you don't do anything halfway, do you?"

Ratchet blinked, speechless, before glaring at Sonata. "Damn it! I did what you wanted me to! Why aren't you coming over here?"

"You just answered your own question." Sonata snarled. "Staccato and I need to talk 'backstage'. You can stay there until you've calmed down."

It took a moment to compute all of this, but then Ratchet growled, and started trying to crawl for her. "You . . . you treacherous, conniving-!"

"Damn it, Ratchet!" Al leapt forward, holding the Lombax back. Clank stood in front of Ratchet, trying to push back on Ratchet's snout. The two managed to hold him in place while the two stars headed through the crowd, disappearing out of sight.

"Sonata, get back here!" Ratchet hissed, trying to break free and keep sight of Sonata's plaits. "SONATA!"

"Ratchet, calm down!" Al spoke, pushing Ratchet to the ground. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm not doing anything until someone explains what the hell is going on here!" Ratchet growled, watching as the crowd dispersed, no longer wanting to look at him.

It took a few minutes, but soon, Ratchet's breath had fully returned to normal, calming down, and even finding himself squeezed a little too tightly by Big Al. Clank stood in front of the Lombax with crossed arms, giving Ratchet a stern look.

This time, Ratchet seemed to make sense of it. " . . . I wasn't supposed to do that, was I?"

"You certainly got a bit 'carried away', and I don't think Staccato appreciated your . . . services." Clank remarked. "How are you feeling right now?"

Ratchet growled, then shook his head. "I feel like a freaking idiot right now . . ."

Clank cocked his head. "If I remove your restraints, do you think you can go and carry on a calm conversation with the Masters?"

Ratchet fumed another moment, and then nodded, slowly. "Just . . . get these things off me, please. And someone get me some damned pants!"

_Six unlatched belt buckles and a loose pair of trousers later . . ._

"Sonata?" Ratchet spoke up, knocking on the door frame. He peered in to see the two of them sitting together, analyzing something on a screen, and he knocked a little harder, catching Sonata's attention.

She turned, eyes wide. "Ratchet! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine . . . . just confused." Ratchet spoke, taking a few steps inside. "What's going on?"

"We're trashing tonight's footage." Staccato growled, going through his files. "Virtually everything you gave us tonight is now useless."

Ratchet's eyes went wide. "What? Why? I thought we were making tons of progress!"

"It's not that we didn't do a lot . . ." Sonata spoke, scratching one ear. "It's just that, well . . . Ratchet, can we sit down for this?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. This is . . . pretty serious." She replied, shaking her head. "Now have a seat."

Ratchet leaned back on a beanbag, confused. "What went wrong?"

Sonata sat down, making sure to keep her distance from Ratchet this time. "As you know, Ratchet, several of the laws surrounding sexual activity on Veldin are a bit . . . stricter than most places. And you probably also know that in order to use any of our footage, we have to comply with Veldin standards in order to distribute and display our work."

"Yeah . . . so what's going on here? Most of those rules apply to the ability to prove various rape cases based on the Birthright's standards, and-." Ratchet spoke, then blinked. "Oh . . . oh _shit _. . ."

He leaned back, pausing for a moment before putting a hand to his mouth, fingertips brushing along his lower lip, as though he understood. Sonata nodded, shaking her head. "Even in our 'private' footage, we can't allow anything that even looks like we've coerced anyone into performing, or else it could become evidence that gets used against us if one of our performers tries to come back and bite us in the ass. We've not been taken to court yet for our work, but there's been a couple municipalities that have tried to get us just based on the bondage aspects alone, and-."

"Simply put, we can't afford to let your 'performance' get back to Veldin. It's not healthy for either your reputation _or_ ours." Staccato butted in.

"But I thought I was . . . I mean, up until your wife backed off, I thought she wanted to-!"

"It's just bad either way we look at this." Sonata shook her head. "Ratchet, I need you to calm down for two seconds and answer me; whatever you thought you were doing to Staccato earlier tonight, you certainly weren't doing it for his health. So why did you?"

"Because he was in the way!" Ratchet shot back, before blinking. "Oh . . ."

"Yeah. Basically, we could both end up with charges pressed for that stunt; on our part because based on the footage alone and our 'fun' from earlier tonight, I led you far enough that your participation could be seen as coercion, and on your part because, well . . . Staccato tried to disengage, and you wouldn't let him."

"There's a thin line between 'rough' and predatory." Staccato grumbled. "I'm pretty sure we both know which side yours landed on."

Ratchet blinked. "But I'm not a . . . you . . . that doesn't make any sense . . ."

"The situation snowballed. Tonight wasn't our usual sort of behavior, and it wasn't yours either." Sonata sighed. "Now, we're willing to call a spade a spade on this one; we'll get rid of tonight's footage and make sure that nobody else from this party leaves with any proof of you on my husband. In exchange, we don't want to hear about this night again, legal or otherwise. Got it?"

"Er . . ." Ratchet blinked, glancing over at the door where Clank and Al kept watch.

"Even without the whole legal aspect of this, we wouldn't have continued anyway." Sonata spoke, slumping into her seat.

Ratchet blinked. "Creeped you out that much, huh?"

Sonata chuckled. "Probably creeped yourself out too."

"Lack of blood really should count as being under the influence . . ." Ratchet sighed, placing one hand over himself.

Sonata took hold of his other hand, making eye contact. "Ratchet, you're a great guy and all, but watching you felt so . . . mechanical. If there's one thing Staccato and I need to impress on you before we go, it's that there's plenty of people in this galaxy and more than enough outlets for cheap sex and other semi-masturbatory outlets for all of them that there's no reason to treat these things like they were a chore. All you seemed to care about out there was getting to me so I could bring you off again . . . and that's not what my work is about."

"She's right about that much." Clank interjected, walking into the room.

"Clank, this really isn't the time . . ." Ratchet whined, blushing now.

Sonata smirked. "He's right, you know. I invest way too much effort into having sex on camera to do it poorly. Now, Let's see how good you are at taking notes . . ."

* * *

Ratchet found himself on the floor a few minutes later, hands secured to the camera, seeking out the best camera angle he could while avoiding being kicked by Staccato's feet. "Come on, don't make me beg here . . ." 

"The only one . . . begging here . . . better be me . . ." Sonata coughed out, arms behind her and straddling over her husband. Staccato was laid out, lounging and picking at the laces holding Sonata upright, even as he had a smile on his face that made it clear he was still having a good time.

"The trick is to make sure that regardless of who's claiming control, the 'host' should always have the final word. Anything else is coercion at minimum." Staccato smiled, sitting up. "Lean back a little. Let the cameraman see what he wants."

Sonata nodded, letting her arms hold her up as she stretched, bringing her legs up to accommodate the new view. Ratchet's eyes went wider, even as he panned back for the full shot of Staccato's hold on his wife.

"Up here, quickly." Staccato barked out to Ratchet, who stood up immediately, focusing on his smirking face. "Look at her. She's beautiful."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"I mean besides the obvious. Just keep the camera up here, on her face." Staccato smiled, turning to give her a kiss on the cheek before nipping her ear. "Those ragged breaths, those sweat-wicked hairs . . . The sheer pleasure in knowing that every little move I make keeps her up and perked . . . She's happy. She's having the time of her life."

Ratchet kept his focus on it, holding the camera steady, but still slightly confused. "That's what you want me to focus on?"

"You have no idea . . ." Sonata moaned out, leaning back further.

The frosty Lombax nodded, arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Never forget, my naive little virgin; there is plenty to be said for the pleasures of the self, but when it comes to our work, we must focus on the pleasure of others. Always."

Sonata nodded, just before throwing her head back, letting loose with a loud, throaty chirp, piercing the air. She chirped again, trying to ride out her wave as long as she could, and it was all Ratchet could do to let the camera follow her body, watching her last throes of excitement. Soon enough, she slipped loose, curling her legs up to the rest of her body and letting out a soft purr.

"You can stop filming now." A white hand darted out, turning off Ratchet's camcorder, and then unlocking the restraints that held Ratchet's hands to the camera. "If you need to deal with 'other' matters, now would be a good time."

Ratchet blinked, then looked down at himself; in all of the effort he'd put into with filming (and being unable to remove his hands from the camera), he was obviously aroused, and yet...

"I'll just ask for some pants now, thanks." Ratchet tried to smile, sheepish. "I've caused enough mayhem for one night."

"Good. So you _can_ learn after all." Sonata chuckled, tossing the hero a pair. "I just hope your friends enjoyed that as much as you seemed to."

"Oh, I'll find out about that soon enough." Ratchet grinned, looking over at a red-handed Al and a blushing Clank, off to one side. "I'm sure they won't be able to talk about much else."

Staccato laughed, pulling out the disc from the camera, inspecting it and putting it in its own case. Then, he handed it to Ratchet, whose eyes went wide, even as he took the disc from the star.

"Hey, it's your film. We're just the actors this time." he spoke, a husky tone in his voice. "Consider it a way to pass the time later."

"Thanks. I . . . er . . ." The lombax stammered, nervous.

Sonata shrugged. "Hey, maybe you'll start your own films now. You know, when the galaxy doesn't need saving every now and then."

"I doubt that'll ever happen." Ratchet smirked, regaining his confidence. "Thanks for tonight though . . . Sorry about being such a dick earlier."

"Hey, the galaxy needs a good dick like you. You just need a little more self-control." Sonata spoke as she wriggled out of the bonds that kept her arms behind her, then hugged Ratchet, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Leaving now?"

"Well, soon . . . want to check out that fine spread outside before we go. A guy's got to eat."

"Ah, yes. I remember hearing something about 'Body Sushi' . . ." Staccato spoke, smirking a little. "I should go and check that selection out myself."

Ratcher grinned, turning to leave. Sonata's hand caught him on the shoulder, though. "One more thing, Ratchet . . . about that tattoo of yours . . ."

"I'll probably get it removed in a few weeks. I can't really think of a good 'replacement' I'd want them to cover it up with anyway."

"I'd just as soon leave it alone. Tampering with tattoos is always a little too tricky, even in this day and age, and besides . . ." She came up behind him, cooing into his right ear, bristing against the inner fur. "I think it's hot!"


End file.
